Prologue
“GUN! Brown trench coat at two o’clock. Five yards.” Tessa Camen, SAIC, special agent in charge, spoke clearly into her microphone, pinpointing the threat. It figured today had to be the day someone came after the president. But nobody was going to take out POTUS on her watch. No way in hell.
Tessa observed the counter sniper team on the roof zeroing-in on the shooter. Uniformed division officers dispersed through the crowd.
If only she had more time to remove the president from the danger. But instinct told Tessa that she had only split seconds to act.
Tessa uncoiled her bunched thigh muscles. Launching her body, twisting in the air, she tackled the president, covering the short politician’s body with her own.
They went down hard. Rolled behind the podium for cover. The president let out a gasp.
At least the president was still breathing. So far, so good.
The audience screamed and stampeded, creating a rioting mass exodus. Cries became wails as people bolted for the exits.
Tessa drew her Sig Sauer P229 from the holster, crawled over the president’s body, and positioned her torso between the shooter and the president. POTUS was not going to die. Not today. Not on Tessa’s detail.
Shots blasted, the noise deafening, the reek of gunpowder strong and bitter. Bullets raked the stage, shattering lights, shredding the curtains. Agents returned fire. The podium splintered into bits of wood. The audience bolted through smoke that clung like a shroud.
Shards of concrete stung Tessa’s face, neck, and hands. She blinked the blood from her eyes. “You hit, Madam President?”
“I don’t . . .” The supreme commander’s face was pale, her eyes wide with shock. But no blood. Only superficial scratches.
Safe. The satisfying thought offered Tessa only a measure of relief. “Stay still. I’ll be getting you out of here shortly.”
Tessa looked up. Fellow agents had closed on the assassin, pinning him down. Within seconds, the command she’d been expecting came through her earpiece. “Get POTUS away.”
She grabbed the president’s upper arm. “POTUS rolling.”
Half yanking, half carrying the president, Tessa zigzagged to the limo. From the disarray of panicking citizens, scurrying police, and busy Secret Service Agents, two well-dressed dark-haired men, stepped between POTUS and the limo. In contrast to the panicky rushing of everyone else, their movements were slow, deliberate, menacing. Trouble.
Tessa shoved the president behind her then shouted, “Get out of the way.”
As if they’d been choreographed to move as one, Mr. Trench Coat raised his gun. Mr. Calm as Ice advanced from her right. Years of training at the firing range and thousands of hours honing her martial arts skills allowed Tessa to react automatically. She took out Mr. Trench Coat with a head shot. As Mr. Calm As Ice aimed at the president, Tessa round house kicked, and her foot connected with his shoulder. He grunted, dropped his weapon, and stumbled into her with a wild lunge that knocked her gun from her hand.
Tessa followed up with an elbow that cracked his rib. He grunted, bent over in pain, reached for a backup gun at his ankle.
“No you don’t.” Lunging forward, she slammed her knee into his face so hard his head snapped back.
A less muscular man’s neck would have broken. With another roar, he shook off her blow. He came at her again, this time more cautiously. Circling right, Tessa kept her body between him and the president.
When the guy advanced, leading with a strong right punch to her face, Tessa blocked and countered with multiple strikes to the knee and throat, softening him up before administering the death blow to the temple.
Tessa didn’t wait for his body to hit the ground before she scooped up her weapon, once again grabbing the president. POTUS’s limo squealed to a stop beside them. Tessa opened the door, shoved her charge into a prone position across the back seat.
Tessa slammed the door behind them and dived on top of her. “Go. Go. Go. Get us the hell out of here.”
The driver burned rubber, and the vehicle sped forward. Up ahead, a police siren blared. While they might not have the entire PPD, presidential protective detail, with them, at least they weren’t entirely alone, either.
Tessa released the breath she’d been holding and spoke through her microphone to the Deputy Director, reporting a break in security that left POTUS vulnerable to attack. “We don’t have the full PPD.”
“Underst—” Her radio went dead.
Oh, God. They were cut off from command. One thought came to mind and iced her blood. POTUS was now her responsibility alone.
Tessa angled her head, peering over the seat and dash. Up front, a black and white led the way, lights on, sirens shrieking.
Behind them, a tan sedan that was not part of their detail followed. When they changed lanes, so did the sedan. “We’ve picked up a tail.”
She needed backup, but with her microphone dead, she couldn’t call her detail. Think.
“Madame President, do you have a cell phone?”
She shook her head. “It was in my purse. I left it on the podium.” The president picked up the car’s phone and frowned. “Dead.”
“Sabotaged,” Tessa muttered. “Madam President, please strap on your seat belt.”
Damn. Damn. Damn. Tessa didn’t need her sweaty palms and ragged nerves to tell her that the president had been purposely isolated. Made vulnerable.
“Speed up. Lose the tail,” Tessa ordered the driver.
He did the opposite, jamming on his breaks, bringing the car to a screeching halt on the highway’s shoulder. Oh My God! Another betrayal.
At the sudden stop, the president yelped in surprise. The car’s momentum whiplashed Tessa forward then back against the seat. Her hand smacked the door. She dropped her weapon, and it slid under the seat. Ears ringing, vision blurred, she scrambled for her gun.
Tessa’s fingers closed on her weapon, but the chauffeur had his fully drawn. Cocked. Aimed at the president.
No way could the traitor miss.
Tessa didn’t hesitate. Muscles already contracted, she dived into the direct line of fire. At the same time, she raised her gun.
Too slow.
Too late.